


i ask you and i know i need to change

by SickSickSick



Category: My Chemical Romance, The Used
Genre: Berts not an asshole, I was kinda high when I wrote this, Multi, Other, Sad, i dont know what this is
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-24
Updated: 2020-08-24
Packaged: 2021-03-06 18:34:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 605
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26093452
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SickSickSick/pseuds/SickSickSick
Summary: His brain is melting, from the thoughts of what was and what will never be.
Relationships: Bert McCracken/Gerard Way
Kudos: 10





	i ask you and i know i need to change

**Author's Note:**

> Uh. I dont. Know. I was a bit high when I wrote this. I tried to fix as many errors as I could. But Im not perfect oh well. I dont know where this came from. I guess its a bit of ranting. I haven't posted shit in forever. So heres this.

He open another bottle of vodka. Completely ready to drown himself in his liquor filled sorrows. The apartment is empty, hes used to that. But it still feels a bit strange. Hes always alone with his thoughts. He gets out of control. The TV got smashed weeks ago, and all the mirrors have been broken for over two months. He hasn't left this couch for two days. There's old pizza on the floor, and it looks like its grown some mold. The walls lost there color and the paint peels in some areas. There's writing, and drawing all over them. Words of a fucked up man. Words of remembrance.

He takes a gulp of the poison. The burn doesn't even affect him anymore. He closes his eyes and leans his head back. Listens to the honking of cars outside of his sanctuary. Or prison. He says words out loud, as if there is an audience in front of him. To hear his words. He can barely hear them himself. His hands shake, he needs help. He knows he does. He knows its his fault. He's to blame for everything. He was selfish and immature. He took things for granted. Fuck, he doesn't even know what he took for granted. He doesn't remember everything. But he remembers the smell of cigarettes. And paint. 

He remembers soft hands on his face. And muttered conversations. He remembers every teardrop and every argument. But he doesn't remember the kisses, or the conversations. He remembers one. But he doesn't like to think about that. He doesn't think at all. Not anymore. He wants it back though. Because he remembers feelings. And the sensations of happiness, and being completely blissed out. And not from drugs. Gerard Way. He remembers the name. He remembers the face. He remembers the smiles. He remembers the yelling. He remembers the hitting. He remembers the adrenaline. And fuck. He misses it. If he had the motivation, he would try to reconnected with everyone. With Quinn. 

Quinn was so pissed off at him last time they talked. That was when the TV got smashed. With a fucking lamp. It wasn't his fault. Its never his fault. But it is. It always is. 

Bert doesn't remember how he got this way. He just knows that tour finished, and he went down, down, down. 

He takes two more gulps, big ones. Some of it misses his mouth and dribbles down his chin. He doesn't care. He doesn't care at all. All the shit that happened means nothing to him. Absolutely nothing. He gives zero fucks about the past. And zero fucks about the future. He could sit here for the rest of his life and die. And not a single soul would be affected. Bert's already taken himself out of everybody lives. He might as well be dead. He's just skin and bones now, with a beating heart. And some blurry memories. And that's all he is. And that's what hes gonna be until the end of the universe. His corpse is gonna melt into the couch and his bones will have the words he couldn't speak on them. 

He wants to say hes sorry. 

Its too late. 

His brain is melting, from thoughts of what was and what will never be. 

He wants to hold hands with death, and leave with a cold kiss of loneliness. Hes obsessed with finding ways to destroy himself. He's destroying himself. He opens his eyes. Takes another swing. Finishes the bottle. Finishes his thinking. He moves to the edge of the couch and smashes the bottle on the table and finishes himself.


End file.
